Watching Your Every Move
by D.E. Lewis
Summary: Someone is prank calling Chase. They think it's fun. Wait until the fun stops...
1. Seeing

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

A/N: We were talking about stalkers in the commons, and boom… story. Here you are. Your very own stalker story.

Watching Your Every Move

The telephone rang again. He stared at the hated device, then continued to prepare dinner. The answering machine clicked on. Chase didn't need to answer the phone to know who was on the other end. House had been bothering him lately.

Lately, when bored, House had taken to prank calling him. Chase had just stopped answering the phone. Chase confronted House about it at work the first day. House had laughed a little. He got a kick out of using the phone as an element of torture.

One time, he'd been in the morgue with little Nadia Svetnokavitz, the coroner. House was lucky Nadia didn't chase him out, yelling a stream of Russian abuses at him. She had found evidence of sex in the morgue and didn't generally like people in her sanctuary. The morgue phone had begun to ring. House answered it. "Help! There's a bunch of dead bodies in here!"

House, plus a telephone, equaled torture for everyone else. Especially Chase, House's Wombat.

"You belong to me." The answering machine said. Chase frowned. That didn't sound like House. With House it was usually "Heeeeyyy. It's me again. Are you still giving that blowjob/having sex/watching porn…"or other obnoxious sex related comments. Chase usually ignored him. But this was a little extreme, even for House.

Chase picked up the phone and dialed House's number.

"Joe's bar and grill, Joe speaking." House answered his phone.

"Did you just call me?" Chase demanded, slightly unnerved by the call.

"No. Now don't call again. You're interrupting poker night." House hung up. So did Chase. He shrugged, and continued to fix dinner.

The phone rang again.

Chase stared at it. The answering machine picked up.

"You can't ignore me forever, you know." The voice said. Chase stared at his meal, and took his food to the living room.

The phone rang a third time. This time, Chase answered. Maybe he'd get them to stop calling.

"Hello."

"So you decide to pick up. You're mine, now." The caller hung up. Chase stared at the phone in his hand. He put it back down. The calls would stop soon. Prank callers generally gave up after a while.

* * *

"House! You don't know when to stop do you?" Chase snapped as he stormed into the conference room. After spending a sleepless night, thanks to the rotten phone, Chase was on edge. His only explanation was House. 

"What are you talking about?" House asked, incredulously. "Is this about the phone thing again? Because I got bored with that after you started playing along."

"Don't lie to me! You were calling me all night last night!" Chase was shouting now.

"Think, Chase. If I had called you all night, would I be all perky and happy to see you this morning?" House asked, slightly sarcastic. Chase sighed, sat down, and dropped his head to the table.

"You're right, you're right." Chase moaned.

"And if you didn't like the calls, you could have taken the phone off the hook, you know."

"My landlord would kill me if I unplugged the wall phone again." Chase murmured, barely awake. House raised an eyebrow. "He gets a little ticked when I tear the wallpaper." Chase looked up as Cameron set a cup of coffee in front of him. He took it gratefully and began to sip.

"Differential diagnosis. Guy can't talk all of a sudden." The phone rang. Foreman answered. After a moment, he turned to Chase.

"It's for you." Chase took the phone.

"This is Dr. Chase." He said.

"What are you doing there? You know I don't want you with those people. You're mine, remember?" Chase felt the blood drain from his face.

"Who are you? Why are you calling me?"

"You are mine!" Then there was a click, followed by a slow, low tone. Chase hung up the phone, staring off into space.

"Chase? You okay?" Chase broke his concentration and looked at Cameron.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just this stupid prank caller. It's nothing." Chase looked at the phone with revulsion.

"Ooookay then." House said. "Guy can't talk. Didn't get himself knocked out, no brain tumor…" The phone rang again. Chase reached for it.

"I don't see you going home yet." The voice on the other end of the line said. Chase hung up, and unplugged the phone.

* * *

Chase sighed as he unlocked the door. It had been a long day. A midday traffic accident had put everyone in the hospital on high alert for emergency victims. And mute guy was having an allergic response to his new asthma medication. Chase reached over and switched on the light. The phone rang instantly. Chase stared at it warily. He let the answering machine pick up. 

"I didn't want to call you again after that accident. You may be mine, but I guess it would be mean to let all those innocent people die. Anyway, yeah. I'm just calling to check in." The caller hung up. Chase stared. Then he got a good look around his apartment. Someone had done some rearranging. His furniture was moved! Chase dropped all of the items he was carrying. The phone rang again. An orange rolled across the floor.

"Hi, me again. Do you like the way I moved the furniture? Way more feng shuy."

The phone would ring all night again.

* * *

Another case, another day where Cuddy had to come up to House's office to reach him. Chase couldn't help himself. This guy wouldn't leave him alone! 

"Hey Chase. In my office." Chase looked up from a tired slump at the table at House. He sat down in the other chair. "What the hell's going on? I need my phone back." Chase looked up at House. House seemed like he cared for once.

"Prank caller. He won't leave me alone. He rearranged my furniture yesterday while I was at work, and called all night. He'll go away eventually." Chase said, tiredness creeping into his voice.

"Call the police."

"I did."

"And?"

"They need more evidence. Idiot didn't take anything, so no crime, nothing wrong, no proof that this guy even exists." Chase sighed and slumped in his seat. House frowned. Chase had the strange feeling that this was bad if his employer wasn't taunting him about it.

"If you need to, Wilson's not staying with me right now. It'll be a place to sleep uninterrupted." House said. Chase nodded, but didn't accept.

* * *

Once again, the phone rang just as Chase turned on the lights. He jumped, then turned and locked the door. He dashed about, drawing the blinds as quickly as he could. 

"Hi. It's me. Look, there's no reason to pull the blinds. Really. I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I wish I could see you for real. You know, face to face? Anyway, I'll call back later. Tell me then." Would this man never stop? Chase moaned at the thought of another sleepless night.

The phone rang again. Chase started walking towards the door. He suddenly wanted to stay at House's tonight and get some sleep.

"Hey, I wanted to tell you I heard the little conversation with your boss. Go over there tonight, and I will ruin you. Got it? You're mine, not his. You belong to me. Got it? _Got it?_ Good, because it would make me sad to stop you." Chase backed up. The man would never leave him alone.

* * *

Chase made sure he appeared perky at work. His prank caller had finally let up, and Chase had gotten a few hours of sleep. He was pleased. 

"Morning, House." Chase said, trying to appear untroubled.

"Um…" House gave him a strange look.

"I think he's gone for good." Chase said, uncertain, but now hopeful. House continued to shoot him wary glances.

The day passed uneventfully. After plugging the telephone back in, no one had called. Chase was in a very good mood.

He smiled at the nurses, taking a few files, and heading for the clinic. A few hours of work would get the nagging feeling out of his head. He was sure of it.

Hours later, the nagging feeling was still there, still telling him what he didn't want to think about: His prank caller was a stalker. But that was silly! Guys didn't get stalked except in weird thriller movies, or in mystery shows. Chase was just a doctor in a hospital. He wasn't in a movie, and he wasn't on television. That was just absurd.

Chase continued the day in relative normalcy. He finished his clinic hours, clocked out, and went to the grocery store. Then, he drove home, took out his keys, and unlocked the door.

It was already unlocked.

Chase stared down at it, warily. He nudged open the door. He looked around the apartment without turning on a light. No one was there. He must have forgotten to lock it when he left that morning. Chase flipped on the light.

The phone rang.

The lights revealed the mess of his apartment. All of the pictures were torn to shreds. Specifically, the pictures with him in them.

TBC


	2. Wanting

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews (I may actually finish this one!) Sorry this chapter is so late. I've been sick since Wednesday. Also, Wilson's little scene is based of a real event. No kidding. But I was playing Chase, not House.

Wanting

Chase sat on House's couch with his arms around his knees. He wanted out of that apartment at all costs.

"Here." Chase looked up. House was handing him an extra set of pajamas. Chase took them wordlessly. He didn't make a move to put them on. He had left everything at home. The groceries were still on the floor where he'd dropped them, as well as his drycleaning. He'd just run, thinking only of getting out of the building. He'd left his pajamas, toothbrush, everything.

Chase's cell phone rang. He made no move to answer it. The ringing stopped. Then it started again.

"Are you going to answer that?" House asked. Chase took out the battery. Then he threw the phone across the room. It smashed against the wall. He buried his eyes in his knees. House stood, and said nothing.

* * *

Chase awoke to the sound of two people talking. Chase had no idea what was going on. It was still dark out, so he probably hadn't been sleeping that long.

"Sorry, but the couch is taken tonight." House was saying.

"House! Who in god's name ever stays on your couch?" Chase sat up. "Oh, I see." Wilson said, catching a glimpse of Chase. He turned back to House. "Is this about the phone thing? Because I thought that was just a rumor." He said in hushed tones.

"No. Dr. Chase just likes to sleep on my couch because it's more comfortable than his lumpy old bed." House replied sarcastically. Wilson looked over at Chase.

"Yeah. I unplugged House's phone." Chase admitted. "Prank caller. Nothing serious. I'm just sick of him calling my house all night." Wilson nodded, giving Chase an odd look.

"Are you sure this isn't serious? It doesn't sound as benign as you're making it out." Wilson asked.

"Leave it to the oncologist to treat it like cancer. The Wombat is a grownup – although I sometimes question it with that hair. He doesn't need a daddy to tell him what to do, Jimmy." House replied, desperately attempting to alleviate the sudden tension.

"And what if he escalates? What if he starts breaking into Chase's house? Who knows what might happen?" Wilson's voice began to raise. Chase winced. He hadn't told House about the photos. House turned to Chase.

"Wombat? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Yeah. There is." The humorous look on House's face faded instantly. Wilson stepped inside and shut the door. "He's broken into my apartment twice now, that I know of."

"And you didn't call the police?" Wilson exclaimed, exasperated.

"I did! They said there was nothing they could do! Just wait for him to give up!"

"What has he done?" House asked, calm as ever.

"Well, the first time I – and the police I would assume – thought it was just some kook who came in and rearranged my furniture. But this time, he destroyed a bunch of photos."

"He's escalating. I knew it." Wilson muttered looking down at the floor.

"Shut up, Wilson. You watch too many crime shows." House snapped. "Chase, what are you planning on doing? It's obvious he's not going to stop."

"I don't know." Chase admitted. He didn't want to think about it. Would it mean moving away? Starting a new life somewhere? He didn't want that yet.

"I'll tell you what you should do: Go down to the police station in person and _make _them help you." Wilson stated.

"Yeah, like _that's_ gonna help! Wilson, they couldn't help me before, they can't help me now! Besides, I'm a _guy!_ He'll go away!" Chase shouted. He was sick of the whole situation.

"Guys can get stalked too! Hell, they can get raped, beaten, abused and everything else that a woman can get except pregnant! You can't exclude yourself from this just because you're not female!" Wilson shouted right back.

"Shut up, both of you!" House shouted above them. They were silent. "Chase, if you get any more phone calls, here or at home, I will call the police. If this all blows over, then fine. Nothing more. Happy?" House snapped.

"No. We can't wait. Who knows what's going on inside this sicko's head?" Wilson replied, testily.

"I'm fine. I can wait." Chase muttered. Then he laid back down on the couch, and slept.

* * *

Chase awoke to someone snoring softly in the chair. He looked over at Wilson, still sound asleep, still looking upset. Chase stared at the wall clock. Four AM. He stood up, and padded to the kitchen, quiet as thief. He looked around for some paper. A sound from the living room made him turn.

"Gotcha. Go back to your hole." Wilson said. He was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Um… Wilson? Are you okay?"

"I'm busy. Now take those rain pants and go back to your hole." There was a triple beat of two feet and a cane.

"He can go back to his hole in a minute." House said, putting an arm around Wilson's shoulders.

"No, I need to oversee." Wilson replied.

"I'll do it. Just go back over here." House led Wilson back to his chair.

"Don't tell. The ducks will be angry."

"I won't. The ducks won't know a thing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Now how about a nap right here on the chair?" House coaxed.

"'kay." Wilson mumbled, sleepily. Within moments, he was snoring again on the chair.

"Sorry. He sleepwalks when something's bothering him." House whispered to Chase.

"The gravy!" Wilson exclaimed from the chair, pointing a finger to the sky. House jumped.

"What were you doing up, anyway?"

"I need to get some stuff from my apartment. I was going to leave a note, but then, um, well. Huh." Chase indicated Wilson's sleeping form.

"I'll go with when Wilson wakes up. Just try and get a little more sleep." House yawned, and limped back to his room. Chase tiptoed to the couch. He really didn't want to wake Wilson again. Especially not if it had anything to do with "gravy".

* * *

About six, House accompanied Chase back to his apartment. Chase changed clothing, and picked up the groceries. He was brushing his teeth when he heard House call him.

"Chase, you'd better come and see this." Chase spit out the toothpaste, and headed into the living room. House was holding a photo. "He was back again."

"What?" Chase took the Polaroid photo from House. It was taken from House's kitchen window. House was escorting Wilson back to his chair. Chase could just see the top of his own head. He turned the photo over. Something was written in oily ink on the back.

"We're going. Now." House grabbed Chase by the upper arm. The phone rang. House stopped.

"Hi. You destroyed your cell phone last night, so I couldn't call you. Hear me now understand me later. If I see you with that crippled bastard again, I will kill you. I will take you to where no one will ever find you, and kill you. Clear? Good. Now make him leave. Do you hear me? Make him leave!" Chase bolted for the door.


	3. Having

A/N: Thank you all so very much for your reviews! You guys rock!

A quick note about Nadia: She was originally invented for CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. So there's definitely some remnants of her origins here.

By the way, ever noticed that they always think it might be Lupus?

Having

"So, what do you think?" House's comment made Chase look up from his spot on the floor. He hated the morgue. The thought of all the dead bodies bothered him. He tried to think of it the way Foreman did: Better they were dead in there than alive. Chase shivered and watched House with the coroner.

"I think the police here are as bad as I was told." Nadia said with her thick, Russian accent. The morgue was the domain of Nadia Svetnokavitz, forensic pathologist. She was a tiny Russian woman with long dark hair, green eyes, and a morbid sense of humor. Nadia was clad in scrubs and a lab coat. She had her silver crime kit open on a slab, and was examining the Polaroid in latex gloved hands.

"What do you mean?" Chase asked. Nadia turned and looked at him.

"There was a detective from New Jersey when I was in high school. He had terrible stories about the incompetence of the police force here." She turned back to the crime kit. She removed a UV light, and shined it on the back of the photo. Something glimmered. Chase got up to investigate.

"Looks like a newspaper article, wouldn't you say, Wombat?" House said, staring at the glowing words. The words were, indeed, mirror image, suggesting the photo had been sitting on the newspaper. Nadia took a few photos, and then swabbed the words. They smudged slightly.

"I will not know what this substance is until I run some tests, but it could be from an adhesive. Also, there is a volume number and date visible. I think I could find where the article is coming from." She said, smiling to herself, caught up in the thoughts of a new crime scene.

The phone rang. No one moved. They stared at the phone, petrified. Nadia sighed, and then went to answer it.

"Hallo? I am sorry, may I know who is speaking? No, I am sorry, he is not here. I am only here with dead bodies…" Then her eyes went wide and she yelled something in Russian. Then she slammed the phone back down in the cradle. She continued to mutter to herself in Russian while she bagged her little piece of evidence, sealed it, and scribbled her initials on the seal. She finished, and looked up at Chase. "You be very careful. Do not go anywhere alone. Not even bathroom!" She exhorted Chase. Chase nodded, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in mute shock.

* * *

"Differential diagnosis. Woman can't get pregnant. She's missed her period for the last four months, and she's hallucinating."

"Some kind of STD? Maybe syphilis?" Cameron asked.

"Good. Get some blood, Cameron."

"What about a tumor? It could put pressure on the occipital lobe and the pituitary gland." Forman spoke up.

"Get me a contrast MRI."

"Could be Lupus." Chase put in.

"Run the test. Chase, go with Cameron." House added warily. Chase nodded, and followed Cameron down the hall.

"So what's up with the phone thing?" Cameron probed.

"It's nothing."

"Like heck it's nothing."

"Just leave it alone, Cameron." Cameron stopped and turned to Chase in the hallway.

"What is going on? Chase, Foreman and I are worried about you! You get a phone call, and then you start acting all weird. What is the problem?"

"It's just a prank caller who won't leave me alone." Chase repeated, trying to convince himself as much as Cameron. Cameron sighed, and they continued walking down the hall.

Once in the room, Chase's pager went off. He looked at it.

"What does Nadia want?" He asked to himself, seeing the word "Morgue" on his pager.

"Nadia? The coroner? What are you doing with her?" Cameron asked.

"You have a coroner?" Said the patient.

"Nadia's a forensic pathologist. I have no idea what she wants." Chase looked out the window of the room. Nadia was leaning against the wall. "Be right back."

"Dr. Chase." Nadia said, not moving.

"Dr. Svet – um…" Chase tried to avoid mangling her name.

"Nadia. Just Nadia." She said, smiling slightly. "About your caller. Do you remember if it was a man or a woman?" Chase thought for a second.

"I assumed it was a guy, but when I think about it, the voice was pretty androgynous." He replied. Nadia looked puzzled.

"What is this word 'androgynous'? I have never heard it." Nadia's language barrier made for some interesting problems.

"Could be a man or a woman." Chase defined, quickly.

"Ah. Makes sense. I have found article. Is from local newspaper about five years ago. Woman went missing after odd phone calls. Later articles say her body was found washed up on shore of nearby lake." Chase shuddered.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I checked MO in national database. Three others with similar MO. Two women, one man. I think this is a serial."

* * *

Chase stared at the blood in the microscope. It looked pretty normal to him. He and Cameron were running the tests in the lab, looking for something to tell them what was wrong with the woman. Chase couldn't concentrate.

What if it was a serial kidnapper? Was it really a serial killer? And what would happen if the caller decided to meet Chase like he'd decided? Then what?

"Hey, I'm going to the rest room for a second. I'll be right back." Cameron said. Chase looked up. He had to turn around so he could see her near the door.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." There were security cameras everywhere. No way the stalker would get him here. True, his back was to the door, but it wasn't a problem. He'd know if someone entered the room. He turned back to the microscope.

A moment later, the door to the lab opened again. Chase didn't move.

"Cameron? That was fast. Restrooms are at the other end of the – " Something was clamped over his mouth and nose. Chase struggled, fruitlessly. The smell was sickly sweet. He could feel leather gloves holding his chin still. He could see blood on the counter. Test blood? Then why was his nose running?

"You're mine." The voice said. Only this time it wasn't over the phone. It was in his ear. He didn't see his attacker. Chase had blacked out by then.


	4. Searching

A/N: My longest chapter yet!

Searching

House stared at the crime tape on the lab door. Nadia was crouched inside, no longer dressed in scrubs, but charcoal gray wool trousers and a burgundy sweater, covers on her shoes, fingerprint powder in hand. Her crime lab case was open on the floor. House saw a flash go off as she took a photo, and then swabbed the blood on the counter.

"House?" House turned to see Wilson next to him. He turned back to the crime scene in front of him.

"He wasn't being stupid. It wasn't his fault. Don't try to stick this one on him." House snapped.

"I wasn't going to say that. The police are here. They want a statement."

"I'll give it to Nadia."

"Nadia's processing because you didn't trust anyone else with the evidence. The police want to take the statement now."

"Fine." House followed Wilson back to the main floor. The police were waiting. Namely, Detective Tritter was standing, talking to Cameron. He looked up when House got off the elevator.

"Dr. House, firstly, I want to apologize for not taking the call seriously." He said, ignoring their past history with a few words.

"Shut up. The apologies aren't helping now."

"Okay then." Tritter was clearly starting to regret his decision to help with this case already.

"Chase came into the office irritable a few days ago…"

"Specifically."

"Today's Thursday. So it was Monday. Anyway, he was all mad at me, thinking I was prank calling him…" House continued with his discourse of the events leading up to Chase's disappearance. Tritter nodded, jotting down things that seemed relevant, asking questions for clarity.

"You're in luck. Nadia's one of the most skilled CSIs I've ever encountered. She'll catch this guy." Tritter said after House finished. "Look, about our past…"

"Save it. This isn't about me." House said, and walked away.

* * *

Nadia was covering the lab in a zig zag pattern, holding a UV light as she went. Nothing. Other than the blood, the cloth, and a shoeprint, the lab was empty. She'd already subpoenaed Chase's phone records, as well as the office records and the security tapes. Chase's apartment was next. House had said they hadn't been back since they found the Polaroid that morning.

Cameron had been in tears when she was telling Nadia what she'd found while Nadia took her prints for comparison. No time for tears when Nadia was working. They just got into the evidence and muddied things up. Speaking of mud…

Nadia looked at the spot near the door jam. Was that mud? She swabbed it. What else had she missed? She looked around. There were damp, black tracks near the door. Two of them. She lifted them with a brief movement of her adhesive tape. They looked like wheelchair marks. She began following them. The wheelchair must have been outside. They usually didn't make marks.

They led her to the parking garage. The tracks stopped when she stepped through the doorway, but that would be obvious. There was something over by an empty parking space. It was the wheelchair. Nadia looked around. She saw something underneath a neighboring car. She grabbed it with latex gloved hands. It was a piece of twine.

Then, she began processing the wheelchair. There were blond hairs wedged between the seat and the handle. She tweezed them. There appeared to be some skin tags still on them. She took out some bright green print powder, and began brushing it on the black handles. Nothing. She used her adhesive tape on the wheels for a positive identification of the tracks inside.

The wheels of the car would be just as easy. She'd have to run them through the tire database, but that wouldn't be hard. She did it all the time.

Unfortunately, live victims weren't something she did often.

* * *

"You see pictures of evidence. This is what I found. Stalker made over one hundred calls to Chase over a two day period. None of the calls lasted a full minute. I think he called, left message, and hung up." Nadia was addressing House's team, conspicuously minus one. "The tires are from a Subaru 1990 Legacy. There are a lot of those around. DNA from blood and hairs is Chase's. Did not find any fingerprints on photos."

"So how did he know what Chase was doing?" House asked. Nadia pointed to the hallway.

"I think he was a security guard here. The camera looks right into conference room. Also, camera into lab was out of focus. Could see attack, but no details. And attacker was wearing scrubs."

"Maybe someone saw something. It would look suspicious for Chase to be being pushed around in a wheelchair." Foreman's comment was instantly shot down.

"Would you notice if you saw someone pushing wheelchair? Does not make cause for alarm in hospital. It is perfect." Nadia rubbed her forehead in her hands. It all made perfect sense. The substance on the Polaroid was glue residue that seeped up through the ink. The cameras, the knowledge of Chase's cell phone number, it all made sense. Whoever it was, he was here often.

"Anything at all you can tell us? Anything?" Cuddy was anxious. This did not bode well for anyone involved.

"Mud sample was from road pack. Attacker has dirt road near home. Is all I know."

* * *

Chase awoke to the feeling of motion. He shifted slightly. He couldn't move his arms. They were tied tightly behind his back. He looked around his confined space, trying to get his bearings. There was a soft, red glow that showed him he was inside a car's trunk. How did he get here?

In a flash, he remembered the attack in the lab, and cried out. His sounds were muffled by something in his mouth. It was a cotton bandana. He struggled against his bonds. They held fast.

When he calmed down, he tried to get a sense of what was going on. The car was stopping. The trunk opened, and he squinted into the glare of sunlight. A silhouetted figure pressed something against his face. In a moment, Chase was aware of no more.

* * *

House rubbed his eyes as he limped into his office. It had been a long night. His mind had been turning around and around the problem with Chase. Where was he? House stopped. He stared at his desk. There was a large envelope with his name typed on a label on the front. He limped back out of the office, and called Nadia at the morgue. She was down in a second, bringing her crime kit as well.

"Yah, what is it?" She demanded.

"There's an envelope in my office, on my desk."

"So?"

"So everyone leaves mail in my box, not on my desk. It doesn't even have an address on it." Nadia turned, and went into the office, crime kit in hand.

She bagged the envelope, and looked around the office. The door was covered in smudges from the last several days. She sighed. Useless. The carpet yielded nothing as well. Nadia started back up to the morgue, with House in tow. It was sterile there.

Once inside, she removed the envelope from the bag as House watched her. She looked it over. Then, she took a scalpel, and neatly sliced off the thinnest top edge House had ever seen. Nadia carefully poured the contents onto the slab. They were photographs. About five of them. She cycled through them.

In the first photo, Chase was slumped in a corner, sleeping. He was still in his lab coat, and looked peaceful. In the next, he was opening his eyes and staring at the camera. The third picture showed him cowering in the corner, deathly afraid of the camera. The fourth showed him huddled in a ball, trying to make the smallest possible target for the camera lens. The fifth was the same picture, but had something scratched into the photo paper coating. _He is mine!_

Nadia was shocked. House donned latex gloves, and picked them up. He stared in horror at the torment Chase was suffering.

"Who would do this?" House said, darkly.

"This person has done this before. I have no other information, other than he is typical serial behavior. Am good friends with psychological profiler. He tell me that stalker has taken newspaper clippings as trophies. Not much else to tell. All personal have signed into hospital today. Cannot get warrant."

* * *

House stared at the ceiling and tossed his ball. Chase had been gone four days now. There had to be something they'd missed. Nadia had found nothing interesting in the photos. No clues, nothing.

What about the mud sample she'd found? Nadia had already subpoenaed any deeds belonging to all personal at the hospital. Nothing. Someone opened his door.

"Dr. House." Nadia was standing there, holding a piece of paper and grinning like she'd never heard of this whole mess.

"What? What do you want?" House snapped.

"Have found lead." House leaned forward.

"Go ahead."

"Stalker wore gloves when handling envelope and photos, but not label. Found fingerprint on the label."

"And?" House struggled to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

"His work card indicates his name is Andrew Whitmore. He is security guard here. Am bringing him in for questioning."

House was up and out the door to the police station as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Mister Whitmore, we understand you may own a property with a dirt road." Nadia was saying, carefully, trying to sound as unforeign as possible. House was watching from behind one-way glass.

"No, I don't even own a house." He said slowly.

"We found your prints on an envelope that contained rather sensitive pictures relating to a kidnapping." Nadia continued. House wondered where she was going.

"So?"

"So we also found mud at the scene."

"Mud's found everywhere."

"Ah, but this was special mud. Is road pack. Is only found on dirt roads." Nadia was losing her caution.

"I don't have a dirt road."

"We have warrant to look at your car." Nadia said. She showed him a piece of paper. Whitmore nodded.

"Go ahead. You obviously don't need my permission."

"I already did. I found road pack on undercarriage. It rained last night. I know you have been on dirt road."

"So what if I had?"

"The warrant also covers your shoes." Nadia smiled. House figured it out instantly. There was blood at the scene. If Whitmore had blood on his shoes…

"What do you want my shoes for?"

"I need to look at them." Nadia said, resolutely. Whitmore sighed, and removed his shoes. Nadia slid them into an evidence bag. Then, she got up and walked out of the room. House followed her.

He found her in the lab, swabbing a stain on the bottom of the shoe. She dropped a chemical onto the swab. It turned purple. Nadia smiled.

"Dr. House, it is positive for blood." Nadia said looking up. She pressed the shoe to a large adhesive. Then, she scanned the shoeprint into the computer, and compared it to the print she'd found at the scene. It was a perfect match, right down to the wear pattern. Nadia grinned wider. Then she got up and headed back to the interrogation room.

"Mr. Whitmore, the blood on your shoe as well as its print place you at the scene. Do you want to explain?" She asked.

"No. You can just wait. You know already. He's mine! You can't have him!" Whitmore's voice was rising in both volume and fervor.

House suppressed a shudder.

* * *

House found Nadia in the print lab. She was running the prints through an archive.

"I think his name is fake." She muttered. She was watching as the screen flipped through thousands of prints.

"Nadia, what if we never find him?" House asked.

"I find him. Do not worry." The computer screen made a noise. "We have a match. Thomas Jacobson. Arrested for... hmm. Stalking." Nadia did some more typing. An address popped up on screen, as well as a picture. It was a house in the woods. A house with a dirt road.

* * *

House stared at the little dump of a house in front of him. The warrant had gone through without a hitch. He stood between Cameron, Wilson, Forman and Cuddy. The police were mulling around. Nadia approached them.

"We have a problem. Chase may have escaped. There is a hole in a piece of wood over window." She said. House pushed past her. He started towards the home, pulling gloves on as he went. He ignored Nadia's shouts to come back. He made a beeline for the door, and then headed for the open door in the hallway.

House started down the stairs with a great amount of difficulty. He could see the splinters in the wood. He could also see two bloody handprints on the window sill where someone had climbed out.

"House, you shouldn't be in here." House turned to see Cuddy at the top of the stairs.

"He's out there. All we have to do is follow the blood drops."


	5. Finding

A/N: This is the absolute last chapter! Aren't you excited????

BTW, sorry about the intense wait. I'm in college and they can't seem to figure out that we all like a _working_ internet connection. I get connection in one spot, and just barely long enough to reply to an e-mail. Bummer.

Finding

Foreman stared at the dense foliage surrounding the house. Somewhere, in those dense woods, Chase was running. As he ran, he would get farther and farther away from people who could help him. And he was obviously hurt.

He stuffed one more bottle of water into his pack. He was the only one on the team allowed into the search party. He looked at House.

"We'll find him. I promise." He said. House didn't answer. No sarcasm, no wit, nothing. "House? He's out there. We'll find him." Foreman repeated.

"I know." House looked down at his cane. He thumped it slightly on the ground.

"I'm sorry you can't go with."

"I'm over it." The walls went back up. House limped away.

Foreman sighed. He looked at the dog who was helping. Zoe was a large dog, part sheepdog, part other stuff. She was jumping around, excited to get out. Foreman slung his backpack on, and began the walk into the woods.

There were intermittent blood drops along leaves and wood for about a mile. While Foreman couldn't see them, Zoe didn't have to. Her innate doggie sense of smell drew her along.

Foreman stared back for a moment, now following Zoe, and not himself.

* * *

House stared in horror at the photographs Nadia was producing from her crime kit. The pictures of Chase depicted him in various forms of fear and torment. Some of the photos appeared to have been taken from a video. Others were just stills that had been made while Chase was sleeping.

Cameron ran off crying. Wilson went after her. Cuddy stared in shock. House examined the photos.

"He's obsessed. Look at this. These photos are almost sexual! Like he's getting off on Chase's fear!" House could feel his voice rising as he spoke.

"Yah. I know. Is pattern I see too." Nadia said, putting the photographs away.

"But Chase escaped."

"Yah."

"Which means the stalker wasn't particularly careful."

"Possibly."

"Or that he wanted to make Chase run, and then recapture him."

"Is also possible."

"You're not going to make a conclusion, are you?"

"I do not have enough evidence to make conclusion."

"Peachy." House replied sarcastically.

* * *

The blood drops came in patterns. Sometimes they were in great numbers, other times, they seemed to come only once in a while. One time, they seemed to discover a spot where Chase had used scraps of his lab coat to bandage his cuts. Foreman could seldom see the blood. Zoe on the other hand…

"Thank goodness for dogs." Foreman muttered.

"Gotta love that nose. Although, I sometimes wonder about it." Said one of the rescue workers with a smile.

"Sounds like a river up ahead." Foreman changed the subject. On the bank of the river, there appeared to be a spot where the ground was ripped away by some object. There was an identical mark on the opposite bank.

"Maybe he tried to cross on a log, and it fell in." Another worker commented.

"So, let's follow the trail downstream." Foreman turned, and began to walk.

About a half mile later, Zoe began to bark like mad. She bolted, and Foreman ran after her.

"Zoe! Zoe come here!" He stopped short when he saw her standing over a white garment. Chase's lab coat was snagged on a root. Foreman tugged it free. Zoe whimpered.

In his mind, Foreman could picture Chase struggling out of his lab coat as it snagged, and held him under. It meant something. Foreman motioned to the other rescue workers, and continued onward.

A mile further down, Zoe began barking again. Foreman looked up. There was a small, frightened, blond figure hugging his knees on the opposite bank.

"Chase!" Foreman called. The figure looked up.

"Foreman? Is that you?" Foreman could only just hear the feeble cry. He wanted to cry himself.

* * *

House jumped as the radio crackled with Foreman's voice.

"Foreman to base. Foreman to base. Come in base." House grabbed the walkie talkie.

"This is base. Come in Foreman. We're reading you."

"House, we have him! He's safe!"

On the other end of the line, Foreman could hear the most incredible whoop.

* * *

It had been a bit of a job retrieving Chase from the opposite bank.

One of the rescue workers had discovered a nearby waterfall they could cross behind. Then, after the climb back up the hill, Foreman had to walk all the way back to examine Chase's injuries. The list was startlingly long.

Chase had wrapped his hands in torn cloth from his lab coat. He appeared to have sliced them on either broken glass, or on the plywood he'd torn from the window. His left eye and cheek were swollen, he had a good sized bump on his head, and he was running a fever. Foreman sighed as he picked Chase up and began carrying him piggyback down the hill.

Chase promptly fell asleep.

* * *

House stared at the sleeping young man in the hospital bed. Chase's hands were heavily bandaged, and he was being pumped full of antibiotics.

The unsanitary conditions he'd been in had caused his hands to become infected shortly after he'd hurt them. The infection caused a fever. The fever made Chase very tired.

House gazed down at him again. He needed to wake him so the police could take his statement. He sighed.

Chase would go through hell again in a few weeks when the trial started. He'd been through enough. House would let him sleep.

Before he left Chase to his dreams, House glanced at the room phone. He thought about the kind of damage such an item could cause. He frowned.

House limped over, and unplugged the phone.

THE END

A/N: So! What did you think?

I would also appreciate your feedback on Nadia. I'm tempted to use her in another story – that won't involve the guys (Ooo. Now I have your attention). Should I pursue it? How good of a character is she? Should I even attempt to keep her? Give me your feedback. Just push the little button that says "submit review".


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